_To the Editor._
Sir,--The letters of W. C., in a recent number of the _Table Book_,
recalled to my mind four of the happiest years of my life, spent in
Cumberland, amongst the beautiful lakes and mountains in the
neighbourhood of Keswick, where I became acquainted with a custom which
I shall attempt to describe.
A few days previous to the “clipping,” or shearing of the sheep, they
are washed at a “beck,” or small river, not far from the mountain on
which they are kept. The clippings that I have witnessed have generally
been in St. John’s vale. Several farmers wash their sheep at the same
place; and, by that means, greatly assist each other. The scene is most
amusing. Imagine to yourself several hundred sheep scattered about in
various directions; some of them enclosed in pens by the water-side;
four or five men in the water rolling those about that are thrown in to
them; the dames and the pretty maidens supplying the “mountain dew” very
plentifully to the people assembled, particularly those that have got
themselves well ducked; the boys pushing each other into the river,
splashing the men, and raising tremendous shouts. Add to these a fine
day in the beginning of June, and a beautiful landscape, composed of
mountains, woods, cultivated lands, and a small meandering stream; the
farmers and their wives, children, and servants, with hearty faces, and
as merry as summer and good cheer can make them: and I am sure, sir,
that you, who are a lover of nature in all her forms, could not wish a
more delightful scene.
I will now proceed to the “clipping” itself. Early in the forenoon of
the appointed day, the friends and relatives of the farmer assemble at
his house, for they always assist each other, and after having regaled
themselves with hung-beef, curds, and home-brewed ale, they proceed
briskly to business. The men seat themselves on their stools, with
shears in their hands, and the younger part of the company supply them
with sheep from the fold; which, after having been sheared, have the
private mark of the farmer stamped upon them with pitch. In the mean
time the lasses are fluttering about, playing numerous tricks; for
which, by the by, they get paid with interest by kisses; and the
housewife may be seen busy in preparing the supper, which generally
comprises all that the season affords. After the “clipping” is over, and
the sheep driven on to the fells, (mountains,) they adjourn in a body to
the house; and then begins a scene of rustic merriment, which those who
have not witnessed it, can have no conception of. The evening is spent
in drinking home-brewed ale, and singing. Their songs generally bear
some allusion to the subject in question, and are always rural. But what
heightens the pleasure is, that there is no quarrelling, and the night
passes on in the utmost harmony. I have attended many of them, and never
saw the slightest symptoms of anger in any of the party. They seldom
break up till daylight makes its appearance next morning.